Work Text:
How did it come to this?
Two bodies pressed against each other: One of which is hovering above it's counterpart---hot and eager to make contact---and then the other, whom lies beneath them---writhing in discomfort, yet somewhat obvious pleasure.
Never in Joan's life had she imagined herself being the latter in such an obscene situation.
Well, atleast not with somebody other than the person she likes. And certainly not (emphasis on the word "not"), with a certain campus playboy she used to avoid like a plague. Heck, if somebody told her last night that she would end up sleeping with JFK, she would've laughed her ass off for solid 10 minutes! Then proceed to sock their teeth off for even suggesting such an absurd idea.
But as she felt his breath fan against her bare neck, she felt her own hitch. His lips met with her flushed skin---of which had left along little trails of pleasure that accumulated into an emotion something else entirely.
Guilt.
It seeped into her flesh and gnawed upon her being.
Yet, the feeling of betrayal against one's morals only increased tenfold when she made no protest to stop the male from completely lifting her shirt off.
Oh God, she actually moaned.
This time, the himbo was not to be blamed of course. His previous advances had always been outright rejected, so as ecstatic as he was, even her sudden change of heart confused him.
However, the bigger surprise to the both of them was that it was her who initiated the idea. They both know that it's not like her to act like this, so why?
Was she really that frustrated beyond rational thoughts?
To make matters even worse, the disappointment she has towards herself isn't the only one that's weighing on her heart, but also of another person very much important to her.
Abraham Lincoln.
Her bestfriend.
Now, what would be a better way to ruin a good natured friendship other than one of them developing feelings for the other?
Just to her luck, she had to be the one who does the falling, whilst her friend seemed too oblivious to even realize the notion of catching her from falling head first into the concrete.
And as if it's the universe's way to spite her, Abe suddenly decided to date someone else too. Much to Joan's frustration, it just had to be none other than the most popular girl at school----Cleo-fucking-patra.
Seeing them together in a daily basis at school campus was already bad enough. But since she also lives under the same roof as the said female, she now also had to suffer listening through the sloppy noises they make whenever they're eating their faces off. She must always maintain a ridiculous amount of patience in order to not tear Cleo's hair off every time she glances at her with that look of victor in her eyes in between their kisses whenever she gets up for a trip to the bathroom.
Then, in a final attempt to win him over, Joan had to walk around campus wearing those god-forbid clothes, and laugh in that shrill god-awful tone. Yet to no avail, her feelings are still unreciprocated.
In the end, Abe still chose Cleo over her.
Just like he always did.
He even seemed supportive with her hookup with JFK.
Another fuel added to the fire.
It was foolish of her to think that a couple layers of makeup and an even lesser layer of clothing could change the way things were.
Now she felt really stupid exerting all those efforts just to gain his approval. She always berates Cleo for being so shallow but is she really better after how desperate she acted?
Maybe if only she'd been straight forward with him from the start, things would've ended in her favor.
Or perhaps it was wrong of her to seek reciprocity. Love, after all, should be unconditional.
Either way, it's too late now.
She had never felt so pathetic.
A voice then calls out her name---a sudden ripple in her stream of thoughts---effectively breaking her out from of her stupor.
Looking sideways, her eyes met with familiar droopy ones. She hadn't even noticed that he had stopped moving a little while ago.
"Are you er, uh, alright?"
Oh. That's right.
She was with JFK, and they were about to have sex with each other.
"You were, uh, crying."
Immediately, she brought her fingertips to her cheek and felt the liquid trailing down her skin.
Shit.
She instinctively turns her body away in shame, finally realizing that not only was she just physically bare in front of him, but also emotionally.
Great.
She atleast expected an expression of dissatisfaction from him, but the male said nothing and merely stared at her, occasionally shifting his gaze from her face to the sheets. Probably dumbstruck by the sudden turn of events.
The room was quiet, highlighting only her slightly unsteady breathing.
It was uncomfortable but she had no idea how to rectify the situation.
She can feel him fiddling with the bedsheets for a while, before she felt his weight shift closer to her.
"Can I er, touch you?"
Expecting him to continue on where they left, she made no movement whatsoever to assent, nor stop the male. Too emotionally drained to even bother. She chose this, so they might as well finish what they've started, even though the thought made her want to shut her eyes.
Before she can start to disassociate once again, she was taken aback when she felt his arms wrapping around her, securing her into a...hug?
Obviously perplexed by the supposedly "act of affection" that he is displaying, she turns toward him.
"Did it not feel good?"
Ah, there it is.
Of course, It was just about his ego. How foolish of her to think that he, a narcissistic jerk, cared about her even for a little bit.
She could care less of appeasing a man's fragile masculinity at the moment, so she tried to squirm away from his grip. The male took this as a sign to loosen his hold of her but not as much to completely let go of her.
"Did I do something wrong?"
With that sentence, her body suddenly ceased it's erratic movements. She turned to look at him again, searching through his face for any signs of deception, which instead, only offered a genuine expression of worry.
He was blaming himself. He actually thought it was his fault that she was crying.
That's why he stopped.
"I, er, um sorry."
If she wasn't already crying before, then she is definitely bawling her eyes out right now.
"N-no! It's not your fault i--why did you stop?" She exclaimed in between sobs. His hand remained encased on her shoulders, while the other settled itself on her hair, combing them in a way that's supposed to be therapeutic.
"I asked for this Kennedy! Isn't this what you also wanted?" She cries, internally cringing from how her voice sounds muffled from the lump in her throat.
"Sure I do, but not when you're uh, like this." She lets out another sob. "Besides, If I do make you cry, it's going to be for an entirely different reason. If you get my meaning."
"S-shut up.."
He suggestively wiggled his eyebrows at her which induced an eyeroll, as well as a small grin. Normally, she would've been irked by these kinds of comments from him, but his ridiculousness in contrast to her dejection, made her realize the silliness of the situation. Thus creating a weird sense of normalcy that somehow grounded her.
Already anticipating the punch for his pesky remarks, Joan's sudden movement made him visibly flinch. But to his relief however, she had only readjusted her head to lean into his chest more properly.
She found this certain reaction of his somewhat comical, cute even if she dares (but she immediately brushed that though away as soon as it came because it's ridiculous), and she couldn't help the chuckle that escaped her lips.
"Have you calmed down now?"
"Yes, thanks Kennedy."
Silence pervaded the room for a while, before being replaced by that boston accent of his.
"You know, this suddenly reminds him."
She hummed in acknowledgement.
"Uh, Lincoln."
"Oh."
If the male noticed the sudden croak in her voice, he said nothing to acknowledge it.
"Yeah, it was around that time poncey died. It was just kinda like this, except ya' know," he widens his eyes in emphasis, "we weren't both naked."
She lets out another chuckle, it's vibration travelling to where their skins met and somehow spreading onto him that she felt every pleasant rumble of his chest when it resonates a similar tone. Her pride long forgotten, she buries her face into his body even further, muttering, '..that sounds just like him.' in a barely audible voice.
No other words were exchanged afterwards.
Once again, silence embraced the room, the same way his arms did around her body---comfortable, and in contrast to the air inside the room---full of warmth.
She never really had a good look at his face before. There never was a need nor a reason for her to do so. She's aware that he's known to be quite the looker but never had she really payed attention to his features in detail at all. And now that an opportunity presents itself, she finds herself gladly drinking him in.
Being droopier than usual, it was his eyes that she first noticed. His upper lashes are noticeably resisting to meet his lower ones, seemingly in an attempt to fight off his drowsiness in order to keep them fixated on her. There never really was evil in his eyes, nor were there notable kindness, but only now had she noticed the certain innocence that they seem to possess.
Despite the dimly lit room, the moon was suffice enough for her to makeout the subtle movement of his nicely shaped nostrils as he breathes:
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale---
Till she found herself unconsciously breathing to the same rhythm.
Lastly were his lips, which in contrast to the usual smirk he parades around campus, lost all it's cockiness and is now ghosting a gentle grin.
He looks so endearing right now, that she could only sigh.
Was this really the same guy who used to shove other kids into lockers before? The same one who used to view women as mere objects meant to gratify sexual pleasure?
Grief from Ponce's death must've change him in ways that even he is not aware of.
Or maybe, the jock is just not the complete asshole as she originally thought him to be.
It could also be that in a moment of weakness, she's just desperate for any speck of affection.Thus she clung onto the first one that was given.
That would explain how she got into this situation in the first place.
But whatever the reason may be, there are two things that Joan is now sure of:
One, no one is irredeemable.
And two, the male never looked as much enchanting to her right now than he ever did before.